


All the Places You Found Me

by halcyon_autumn



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence - Grondor Field goes differently, Emotional Supression, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Golden Deer Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Ingrid Rarepair Week (Fire Emblem), Ingrid is the only person who joined the Deer and she has feelings about it, No one in Faerghus has healthy emotional expression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:08:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27046243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyon_autumn/pseuds/halcyon_autumn
Summary: Written for day 2 of Ingrid Rarepair Week, inspired by the prompt "Traitor." Ingrid is haunted by the things she left behind to join the Golden Deer. It might be easier to work through things if Ingrid could recognize her emotions, much less express them. But looking at her own feelings leads to trouble, especially if she thinks too long about how exactly she feels about Claude von Riegan.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 39





	All the Places You Found Me

It was Claude who came and found her after Ailell. Ingrid was leaning against the Goddess Tower, looking over the mountains. She could see a few shards of stained glass mixed in with the dust and stones of the half ruined cathedral behind her, a testament to how poorly Garreg Mach had fared over the past five years. She heard Claude before she saw him, which meant he wanted her to know that he was there. 

“Hilda said you were trying to glare a hole into the mountains,” Claude said, leaning against the stone battlements. Even several months after the class reunion, she felt like she was getting to know him all over again. Running the Alliance had given him a new set of masks and defense mechanisms, and she had to relearn what was a facade and what was his actual personality, all while wondering if that was just a facade as well. 

“That’s just my resting face,” Ingrid said, scowling at the mountains even harder. 

Claude sighed. “Ingrid, you’re not in Faerghus anymore. You can talk about your feelings here. Don’t do that thing people from Faerghus do where they get intense and severe and emotionally constipated.”

Ingrid snorted. “I’m not emotionally constipated.”

Claude laughed. “Growing up with Felix skewed your metric for healthy emotional expression.”

Ingrid laughed, a hoarse sound that almost alarmed her. She hadn’t spent much time laughing during the last five years. Fighting a losing war against Cornelia’s dukedom had sucked most of the joy out of her life. “Not exactly a fair criticism from you,” she said, but there was no barb in the words. “Neither of us like to express how we feel.”

“True enough.” Claude leaned against the battlements and stretched, seemingly unconcerned. “Try it anyway.”

For a moment Ingrid didn’t speak, just stared hard at one of the broken windows of the cathedral. “We fought Count Rowe.”

Claude opened his mouth, then shut it and looked at her. Five years ago he already would have been probing for answers. Now he was willing to give her enough space to speak slowly and work out what exactly she was feeling. 

Her fists tightened. “I - I didn’t have a problem fighting him. He was trying to kill us, and he’s a traitor to the Kingdom. It didn’t matter to him that Cornelia murdered Dimitri. He threw his lot in with who he thought was the winning side and left the rest of us to die.”

She glanced at Claude, willing him to interrupt her. But he was still patiently waiting, and she felt the weight of his whole focus. She reached for her braid, an old nervous habit, before remembering that she’d chopped it off. “What he did upset me. That’s all.”

“Hmm,” Claude said. “I can see why that pissed you off. Faerghus seems to care much more about nobility and chivalry. Leicester is mostly stabbing people in the back while you smile.”

She sighed. “We still have that. But it’s...different. I don’t know how to describe it. I don’t know how to explain Faerghus to any of you.”

The wind had kicked up. Even in the warmer months, it was always cool in the mountains. Here, amid the massive peaks and valleys, Ingrid felt blessedly small and unnoticeable. She was so far away from Faerghus, far enough away that she could hope that no one back home would think about her.

“You miss Faerghus,” Claude said. “Ingrid, no one is going to hold it against you for being homesick.”

She shook her head. “That’s not it,” she whispered. Her chest contracted painfully. “I’m not going to abandon all of you in the middle of the night to go back to Faerghus, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No one thinks that.” Claude tilted his head to the side. “Don’t try to deflect. Something about that fight is weighing on you. If you won’t talk to me, talk to someone. Ignatz, maybe. Not Hilda though. She’s horrible at this.”

“I’m fine,” she lied. The wind had intensified, and she hoped to the Goddess he assumed that the tears in her eyes were from the sharp wind. “I’m just bothered by Count Rowe, but I shouldn’t let it get to me. We have more important things to think about, and he’s dead now anyway.”

Maybe she  _ could _ still read him, because she saw a flash of hurt cross his face before disappearing. “He sure is,” he said, so at ease she could almost forget his momentary pain. “Well, I’ll leave you to keep an eye on that mountain range.”

As he walked away, she thought of all the times she’d talked to him and walked away stung by his cocky grin and seeming refusal to take anything seriously. Was that how he felt now, with her refusal to admit her vulnerability? It wasn’t like she owed it to him. But...once, he never would have respected that she didn’t want to talk about it. He’d have kept trying to wring it out of her either by tricking her or annoying her into admitting what she was holding back.

This time he hadn’t. Maybe it was maturity; they’d both grown so much since the fall of Garreg Mach. And maybe he genuinely cared about how she was feeling instead of just dragging her secrets into the light to him to look over.

Ingrid stood by the battlements a long time, looking out over the mountains and letting any tears fall hundreds of feet below.

***

Ingrid found Claude after the Battle at Myrddin. 

Their army was making its way back to Garreg Mach, jubilant after capturing the bridge. They’d planned to have some sort of celebration when they made it, but no one was willing to wait. So that night, the army pitched their tents, scrounged up whatever liquor they had, and got triumphantly drunk.

Even Ingrid joined in the festivities. She let Leonie and Raphael teach her Leicester folk dances, stumbling through the unfamiliar steps. Soldiers dug out small harps or flutes, and some bold soul produced a vielle. No matter where she went in the camp, she heard snatches of Leicester anthems, played over each other on different instruments until it bled into one victorious cacophony. Lorenz tried and failed to organize them into a band, and Ingrid spent a few minutes consoling him while they both winced at a rendition of victory anthem with most of the words changed to be about sex. Sylvain would have loved it. 

But after an hour or so, she found herself desperate for quiet. She kept expecting to hear the folk songs she knew - The Lion of the North, The Windmaid’s Lament, or Astrid and the Ice Blade. True, most Faerghus folk songs were about people freezing to death in the winter, and Leicester songs on the whole were more cheerful. But the longer she listened to the unfamiliar words, the more she missed the songs of her childhood. 

She tried to hide away in her tent, but every few minutes a drunken man with a Goddess-cursed  _ trumpet  _ would start to play a few tents over. He was awful, but Ingrid had to admire his dedication. He tried to play over and over, even when other soldiers yelled at him to shut up. After the fourth attempt, she left her tent and wandered from bonfire to bonfire, always on the edge of the festivity. 

Ingrid’s brother had told her a ghost story when she was seven about a Faerghus soldier who died far from home on the shores of Brigid. Supposedly the soldier still haunted the shores, watching ships come and go without ever being able to board one and return home. Sometimes he hummed to himself as he endlessly walked the shores, and merchants told stories of hearing bits of old Faerghus songs, carried on the wind.

Tears welled up again at the thought, and she wiped them away so quickly she nearly smacked herself in the face. What was  _ wrong  _ with her?

Eventually she found herself standing outside the command tent. There were two guards, both grumpy at having pulled this shift. They let her pass, and she was greeted with familiar sights. There was a large map of Fodlan on a rickety table, covered in small stones painted yellow and red to denote Leceister and Empire forces. Claude leaned over the table, his eyes tracking potential troop movements as he shifted stones around the board. There were circles under his eyes. Claude always seemed so unbothered, so immune to the stresses of being the ruling Duke. He hid his exhaustion so well that it almost shocked her to see physical evidence of it. There was tension along his shoulders even when he looked up at her and smiled. Either he couldn’t hide his feelings, or he trusted her enough to let something show. “Hello, Ingrid,” he said. “You get tired of the festivities too? Some asshole out there found a trumpet.”

He looked up at her, and her heart started pounding against her ribs harder than the first time she’d gone into battle. She knew with a sharp certainty that she was about to do something stupid. “Claude,” she said. “Claude, I’m a traitor.”

His body language changed immediately. One hand crept towards the dagger she knew he always carried on his belt, while the other balled into a fist. His eyes went wide, then narrowed. She’d only seen that expression on his face once before, and that had been the holy tomb when they realized that Edelgard was the Flame Emperor. “Ingrid, you - you betrayed us to the Empire?”

“What? No.” She stared at him, hating herself for the words she was about to say. “I’m a traitor to Faerghus. I abandoned them. I took my Crest and my relic and instead of avenging my king and friend, I came here.” She shut her eyes against the tears welling up. “All I could think about after killing Rowe was that I’d abandoned my country like he did. But my place is here, with the Professor and you and -” she was crying in earnest now, unable to continue. 

Claude relaxed and stepped towards her, his hand moving away from his dagger. “First,” he said, “don’t ever scare me like that again. Second, you’re not a traitor. You’re still fighting the Empire, just on a different front.”

“It’s different,” she whispered. “I mean, I believe in what we’re doing here. I think - I think we have a better chance of defeating the Empire here than the resistance in Faerghus does.” Admitting that was like a stab in the gut, and she had to pause as a wave of grief nearly brought her to her knees. She hated herself for leaving, and she hated herself for crying, and she especially hated herself for crying where someone else could see. But these words had been clawing at her throat for months now. Speaking the truth was a relief, even if it burned her throat to admit it.

Claude had stepped away from the table and was walking towards her. “But you, despite risking your life for others over and over, despite battling the Empire, despite trying your hardest to destroy the people responsible for Dimitri’s death, think that you’ve betrayed your country.”

“I left,” she said miserably. “There’s no getting around it.” She was suddenly aware of how close they were standing, with her head against his chest, but she didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have a traitorous bone in your body.” Claude had stopped an arm’s length away from her. His left arm twitched upwards, then dropped back to his side. Had he been about to hug her? Reach out and wipe away some of the tears threatening to fall? “There’s a difference between a tactical application of force and abandoning someone.”

She looked away from him and his kindness. “I know. But knowing doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Claude was silent for a moment. “I can’t pretend to understand exactly how you’re feeling. You’re a different person from me. But I know you.” He reached one hand to her face, then let it drop before making contact. “Your family and friends back home know you. They know you’re still fighting for them, just on a different battlefield. You’re a good person, Ingrid. And I can tell you that as many times as it takes until you believe it.”

Ingrid hugged him, desperate for both human contact and a way to hide that his kindness was almost enough to make her lose any sense of composure. After a moment, Claude’s arms wrapped around her as well. He let her lean into him for a long moment, sniffling and wiping away tears. Once she had herself together, she leaned away. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know where that came from.”

Claude actually laughed. “Well, I’m the one who told you to express your emotions.”

“Hugging isn’t an emotion,” she said. “But - thank you.” She tucked a few wisps of hair behind her ear. Why did she suddenly feel like a fourteen sixteen year old at her first ball, shy and out of place? She was a grown woman in the middle of a war. “That was...a lot.”

“I’ve spent years running around with Hilda,” Claude said dryly. “She’s a hugger. So is Raphael.” He tilted his head. “Wanna look over troop movements with me so you don’t have to go sit in your tent and listen to six bad renditions of the Leceister anthem?”

“Yes please,” Ingrid said, wiping the last of her tears away. She could have hugged Claude a second time for giving her a task to complete. He probably didn’t need her help, but she welcomed the distraction. She expected the celebration would wind down soon and they’d both be able to return to their tents.

She was wrong.

Hilda found them the next morning, both sprawled out on separate sides of the tent. “Oooooh,” she said, laughing as they both looked around blearily. “The Duke and and general, asleep in the tent together. With  _ no chaperone.  _ Imagine the  _ gossip.  _ The  _ scandal.  _ The  _ lecture  _ you’re both going to get from Lorenz.”

Claude threw a handle of yellow stones at her. Hilda dodged them, laughing. “A torrid love affair,” she continued, undaunted by Claude flipping her off. 

Ingrid sat up, wincing at Hilda’s loud voice. “No one will believe that I’m involved,” she said flatly. “I’ve never done anything torrid in my life, and the whole army knows it.”

Hilda deflated. “That’s true,” she said sadly. “I guess I’ll let it go because clearly nothing interesting happened.” She flopped down on the ground. “Claude, can we all have a day to rest after last night’s party?”

“No,” Claude said. “We need to get to Garreg Mach as quickly as possible.”

For a moment, Ingrid remembered being seventeen, standing in the entry hall and berating Claude for being a lazy slob. He’d called her uptight and told her to smile more. She’d threatened to stab him. But when she looked at him now, she thought of his kindness last night, and the way he’d assumed command of Leceister’s forces like he was born to it. He was one of the hardest working people she knew; he just hid it. He hid so much, but she still wanted so very much to trust him. 

And sometimes when she looked at him she thought of how he looked in the training grounds, when all his muscles tensed before he fired an arrow into the heart of a training dummy. Or how he looked at her right before a battle when they both rocketed into the air, grins on their faces as they defied gravity and took to the skies. No matter how many times it happened, his face was always joyful in the moments. Or the way he - 

_ Oh.  _

Goddess.  _ Oh no. _

Ingrid stood up, dusting invisible dirt off her uniform. “I need to make sure my battalion is ready to move out,” she said, suddenly feeling as if she’d stripped off all her clothes and started dancing on the table. It was a stupid way to feel. No one in this room would suspect she’d just realized that she had feelings for Claude. “We’ll be ready by - whenever we need to be ready by.”

“Sure,” Claude said, waving a hand at her as he stood. “I trust you Ingrid. I know you’ll be ready.”

He didn’t seem to notice that she was suddenly skittish, but Hilda raised her eyebrow as Ingrid practically flew out of the tent.

***

They found each other before Grondor Field. 

Ingrid was checking and rechecking her weapons, the saddle on her pegasus, the straps on her belt - anything she could look over one last time to soothe her anxiety. Claude stood beside her, his eyes staring over the landscape. Was he deep in thought, or just 

“I can do this, right?” Ingrid asked, cursing her hands for shaking. If she couldn’t do it, people would die.

“You can,” Claude said, and his voice didn’t waver. “If anyone can convince Faerghus that we’re not their enemy, it’s you.”

“Dimitri might not listen,” Ingrid said, triple checking that her stirrups were the correct height. “If, if the rumors are as bad as they say - ” She trailed off, still unwilling to speak against her childhood best friend. And her King, or Prince, or whatever position he held. If she’d had any idea he was alive, any at all, she’d have moved heaven, earth, and the Goddess herself to find him. She swallowed the guilt squeezing her throat and continued. “If he’s as bad as they say, there might be no convincing him, and it’ll be a threeway blood bath.”

Claude put a hand on her shoulder. “If I didn’t think you could do this, I wouldn’t send you. I’d have told you no when you suggested it.”

She snorted. “I know. We’ve always been too honest about what we both thought of the other.” Except, of course, for one staggering admission on Ingrid’s part. Claude didn’t need to know how many nights she stared at the ceiling and thought about him.

“No one,” Claude said, “has ever accused me of being too honest. Ever. This - this is a first. I need time to think about it.”

She forgot herself for a moment and elbowed him, then laughed at the false affront on his face. “That was an attack on my royal person,” Claude said with a slightly higher voice. Ingrid was pretty sure he was impersonating Lorenz. “This is an attempt on my life.”

“You’re not really royalty,” Ingrid pointed out, though she was laughing. His Lorenz impression was  _ very  _ good. 

Claude smiled at her, so bright and dazzling that it left Ingrid momentarily unable to focus. “What would I do without you here to keep me humble?” He asked.

Her breath caught in her chest.  _ Don’t read into it. He’s just trying to make you feel better before you go.  _ “Lysithea has always been able to take you down a peg,” she said, and was proud of how even her voice sounded. “And the Professor. And -”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Claude said, waving a hand as though brushing away her list. “Get out there, save the day, and come back to keep me grounded.”

“Always,” she said as she swung up into the saddle. Goddess help her, she wanted to kiss him.

Her Pegasus was about to leap into the sky when Claude said “Ingrid,” in a tone she’d never heard before.

She turned back. Claude looked up at her, and the look of fierce pride on his face made her heart pound. “You’re the only one who could do this,” he said. “You’re the only person with such close ties to the leaders of Leceister and Faerghus. You said you felt like a traitor, but if you pull this off, they’ll sing songs about you uniting our two armies. I’ll make sure of it.”

She leaned closer to him, unable to help herself, despite the fact that she was on a pegasus and he was on foot. “I hope so,” she said, stupidly thinking of how close he’d come to touching her face those months ago in the command tent. “I just - Claude I -”

Claude had moved closer to her too, and they kept leaning closer as if caught in each other’s gravity. Ingrid was gripping the saddle with one hand to keep herself from toppling off, but she couldn’t stop. For all Claude’s talk of being a schemer - and he absolutely was - he was a good man, too. Maybe one of the best men she’d known. 

She wasn’t sure who started it. Suddenly Claude’s mouth was on hers, or hers was on his, as if they’d both given in at the same second. She kissed him deeply, letting both her hands thread through his hair. Claude, for his part, wrapped his hands around her waist and tugged her off her pegasus. She broke the kiss for a few seconds to slide out of the saddle, and Claude kissed her harder as if to make up for it.

After a few moments, they broke apart for a few seconds before Claude pressed his forehead against hers. “I thought it was just me.”

Ingrid laughed. “No,” she admitted, feeling a blush steal over her cheeks. “Clearly not. I’ve felt like doing that for months now.”

“Our timing is incredible,” Claude said. “Right before you attempt a diplomatic mission, and days before a massive battle.”

“It’s a tradition back home to confess your feelings right before a battle,” Ingrid said. “People think it makes the soldiers fight harder.”

Claude snorted. “That’s very….Faerghus.” He reached a hand up to her face, and gently swept a few stray chunks of hair back behind her ear. She leaned into his touch, letting her eyes flutter closed. “Go make peace between Leceister and Faerghus, Ingrid Galatea. And then come win a battle with me, so I can kiss you again.”

He helped her onto her pegasus, and then she turned to look back at him. He looked up at her with admiration and a blazing confidence that she could do this. And she looked at him with an iron trust in his judgement, and faith that if he thought she could broker peace between two nations, she could. 

Her heart leapt just as her pegasus did. She glanced back at Claude, who was still smiling up at her, then turned towards the distant Faerghus camp with her head held high. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ingrid manages to convince Dimitri that Leceister is NOT there to fight Faerghus, and the two countries form a tentative alliance for the Battle of Grondor Field. Right before Ingrid heads back to the Leceister camp, Sylvain points out that she seems different and she blurts "yeah, sorry I just kissed Claude." Then she jumps on her pegasus and flies away while her childhood friends scream. She is learning how to express her emotions but she is, bless her heart, still atrocious at it.
> 
> Thanks for reading! My FE3H twitter is [@halcyon_autumn](https://twitter.com/halcyon_autumn)


End file.
